Hera had parked the Ghost in deep space, settling them into a wide orbit around a cluster of developing stars. A nebula, she'd called it, and Sabine had plastered her face to a viewport for hours looking at the brilliant, glowing colors

Zeb could hardly have cared less. He'd hoped she would've chosen to camp out somewhere with an atmosphere, so he could go outside.

But no. Instead, he'll have to work out and do all his target practice inside the ship. He grunts as he slides down the ladder to the Ghost's main cargo bay. Chopper's grumbling seems more and more reasonable to him by the day now. There's a set of free weights tucked behind a panel in the wall, and he picks light ones to warm up with, then works up to doing several sets back-to-back with the heaviest. Panting slightly, he collapses on his back on the floor for a moment to catch his breath.

There's no time for this. What are they even doing out here, anyway?

Zeb hears the light thumps of footsteps in another section of the ship. Probably Ezra, pacing and talking himself through another backup plan. Or maybe it's Sabine, trying to distract herself by painting. Tension's been high since Kanan got captured. Nearly two standard weeks had passed since then. Zeb had tried to act like this was all normal for his own peace of mind, like Kanan had planned it all out this way anyway. It was like that time they'd smuggled the kid into the Imperial academy on his own for a little while and couldn't contact him. That's what this is now, why they aren't hearing anything from Kanan. It's just routine radio silence.

It's just another job.

Zeb rocks himself to his feet and does another set. He pushes himself now, hard. Working up a sweat is the best way to deal with any negative emotion. That, and taking out Imperials. But as Hera has them drifting through space at the moment, he really has just one option. Sweat it out.

Anger begins to rise in Zeb's chest. Better out than in, a small voice in the back of his head says. Better than how you've dealt with anger in the past.

This isn't how he would do it. All this waiting, planning, sneaking around... They were being too careful. He'd tried waiting and planning before, back on Lasan. He'd tried to act with caution and... he'd lost everything. Garazeb Orrelios had lost everything from being too careful... too careful about his own skin and nothing else, he hated to admit. It was because of his own selfishness and survival instinct that he'd survived, but he'd hardly been able to protect any other Lasats. It was his job as a member of the Honor Guard to protect Lasan, but they were overpowered and outnumbered and Zeb knew he was no good against the Empire dead. At least, that was what he told himself.

That same self-serving attitude was what angered him so much about Ezra the first time they'd met. He'd thought the kid was like how he used to be, far too much. He had acted how the old Zeb would have - with regard to himself, only thinking about his own hide, not about the bigger picture.

And now. It wasn't that they were being selfish by acting with caution. They were fighting smart, trying to reach in to grab Kanan without sacrificing anyone else. Zeb understands this, but it still doesn't set right with him. He'd joined up with Hera and Kanan from the start to prove, not just to them, and not just to the Empire that he was fighting material, but to himself. And all this waiting is not what he signed up for. It's frying his nerves.

Zeb doesn't like to think about the past. He doesn't like to think about the future too much, either. And so his brain forces him back into the present as his muscles scream through the last few reps of a tough set.

"Zeb?" It's Ezra, calling to him from over a railing.

The Lasat drops the weights to the ground with an exhausted sigh. "What," he growls.

"Hera's got dinner ready, so..." Ezra trails off, looking at Zeb and all his sweat stains. "She'll pro-o-obably want you to wash up first," he says, and the corner of his mouth twists into a smirk.

Zeb turns his face away to hide a smile. Maybe the kid's doing okay after all, being that he was starting to make smelly-Lasat jokes. "Tell her I'll be up in a few."